


Dean

by Drasna



Series: Perfect Day [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:35:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26664523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drasna/pseuds/Drasna
Summary: You'd known them since you were young, the memories of a perfect day and an unfinished teenage love story haunting you for years. The drama that tore you apart and brought you all back together again told in turn by you, Sam and then Dean.A Collaboration with DandelionDreaming, KarleeKarma, and Drasna, each telling a piece of the story in turn from the Reader, Sam's and then Dean's point of view.This was such fun for the three of us to write, hope you enjoy reading just as much. 💙 😘ps. Click the link in header for the song
Relationships: Dean Winchester & You, Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Perfect Day [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939999
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Dean

[ **PERFECT DAY** ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2NFGqHVEd56oX1huVznefq?si=5Yhwr_dATaq5kS1yBc1qsQ)   
  


**_Just a perfect day_ **

**_Problems all left alone_ **

**_Weekenders on our own_ **

**_Its such fun_ **

**LOU REED**

_Hey! Kid! Hey!_

**Dean grips Baby’s steering wheel, thinking of her.** Back when she was just a snot nosed little pain in the ass. Her tiny six year old hand clutching the hem of Sammy’s jacket through the grass as they all explored. She claimed Sam for her own whenever the three of them got dumped at Bob Singer’s Salvage Yard together. Dean became the unofficial director at the exclusive summer camp reserved only for the kids of John Winchester and her dad. Being the oldest, Dean would always get the brunt of Bobby’s wrath even if he’d had nothing to do with the initial plans that went horribly wrong. When she coated herself in motor oil playing mechanic or Sammy hammered his thumb instead of a nail playing carpenter, Dean could never catch a break with Uncle Bobby.

“Gotta look after ‘em, boy. I ain’t got eyes in the back of my head. You gotta be that pair for me.”

_Hang on for me, Kid!_

A twelve year old Dean had found a rusty old wheelie bike in the yard, with peeling pink paint, vinyl flower decals that could use some watering, and three pitiful streamers hanging from only one handlebar. He remembered the wide eyes when he’d taken an afternoon to clean it up and oil the chains, with nothing else better to do, and presented it. She shook her head, vehement that she wouldn’t get on it.

Sammy had nudged her closer to the bike. “Dean taught me how to ride. He won’t let you fall.”

And he hadn’t. It had taken an hour of him starting and stopping, racing and braking alongside the bike as she struggled with the pedals, searching for a rhythm. He guided when needed. His hands on the sissy bar attached to the banana seat. Her tiny purple sneakers with velcro straps, more and more confident with each pass up and down the long drive. He’d let go when he knew she could do it on her own. Sam raised his hands in glee and hollered. **Dean chuckles as he zooms down the dark highway, recalling the proud and amazed smile plastered on her face as she pedaled her way back to the Winchester brothers.**

_Beat it, Kid! Sammy’s in the library. Got some lore to teach you._

Dean ruffled her hair and scooted her into the room when she was nine. He knew a crush when he saw one. Sammy was at that “girls are icky” eleven year old phase. All girls but her, though his serious and sullen younger brother would never admit it. And Dean could tell she thought Sammy was the best thing since peanut butter and banana sandwiches with the crust cut off.

_Take good care of Sammy while I’m gone, Kid!_

He remembered the blush on her face that bright summer day after he tossed a knowing smirk in her direction. He tried not to stare too long at the sixteen year old and her jailbait body. The curves spilled out of the top of a modest one piece swimsuit and were hugged by a nice pair of accentuating jean shorts. 

The dads had been on a hunt together and decided to hole everyone up in a cabin by the lake for a couple weeks. Dean was tasked with heading into town that day to scope out a diner and ask locals some questions. The elder hunters trekked to a cemetery twenty miles away that morning to find the grave of a disgruntled spectre.

Dean thought about grabbing a couple drinks at a bar as well, just to get a well-rounded lay of the land and its inhabitants, of course. He’d already started to distance himself from Sam, knowing his younger brother was Stanford bound in a month. Off to do bigger and better things than assist John on his almost two decade revenge saga. But Dean. Dean would stay behind. He’d be there for their dad, like he always was. Cause he wasn’t built for much else than hunting, anyway. Sam, though. Sam and John were like oil and water. Sam was special.

She was a lot like Sam. A bookworm. Sensitive and smart. And she was special. But she was a lot like Dean, too. Her dad could do no wrong in her eyes. She was loyal to a fault; even if it meant she’d sacrifice what made her happy. 

Dean knew Sam made her happy.

_I’m so sorry, Kid._

Dean wanted to take all that pain away. He’d held that eighteen year old “kid” - now a damn fine eighteen year old woman - in his arms for what felt like forever, listening to the soft sobs, stroking her even softer hair. She’d lost her dad in a hunt. Dean had heard the news from John in a voicemail; had traveled all day to find her on the family farm. He had to be there for her. Be there the way he knew she’d wished Sam would. But neither one of them had heard much from Sam over the past two years now that he was at Stanford studying to become a lawyer. He’d moved on. Dean looked into those still innocent eyes, even with all she knew and all she’d done as a petite package of a hunter, and thought of a way for them to both move on, too.

_Come with me, Kid._

“Come with you?” She batted those lashes in confusion.

“You aren’t going to do anyone any good on this farm and you know it. My dad’s been sending me out on jobs solo a lot more lately. I could use the help.”

Her hand wiped at the dribble escaping one nostril. “You don’t need anyone’s help, Dean. You’re an amazing hunter.”

He shrugged. “Well, then, I could use the company.”

That was when he saw it. That little glimmer in her eyes. That shift. It was only for a second. In that second, he wasn’t just Sam’s older brother. “I’ll cramp your style with the ladies.”

“Nah. If anything, you’ll make me more appealing and mysterious.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “They’ll wonder what all the fuss is about with a beauty like you on my arm.”

He’d made her laugh. That was when he knew she’d be alright.

**Dean calls her cell. He almost hopes she doesn’t pick up. Hopes she and Sam will be otherwise occupied after his matchmaking threw them back together. Almost hopes that she and Sam finally got busy picking up where they left off. Almost hopes because there’s still a spot on his heart with her name etched on it. But she was never really all his. Those days with her were light and free, even the ones that ended with salt and burns and bloody ghoul parts at their feet.**

**“What’s up, old man?”**

**“How goes it?”**

**“Sam and I think we’ve got a lead. Going to check it out now.”**

**“Taking good care of him while I’m gone?” Dean chuckles, but a little part of him breaks at her uncomfortable laugh of response. “Seriously, Kid, do I need to come back and lock you two in a room?”**

**She mumbles into the phone. “Jesus, give a girl a chance to play hard to get, would ya?”**

**“No dice. After your little milk run, get down to the real work.”**

_Call it, Kid!_

“Five. Corner pocket.” She voiced with confidence and one two many beers in her system.

Dean scoffed. “No way you make that.”

She tapped the cue stick on the floor, sticky with the kind of residue that could only form in a pool hall. “And if I do?” Her snarky smile and upturned chin appeared to be serious.

“Are we betting now?” Dean mused.

She nodded. “I make it, you let me drive back to the motel.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “No way.”

“Hm. Then you must think I have a shot at making it.” She twirled the stick in those delicate fingers that had sunk a silver blade into a werewolf a week ago.

“Six months hunting together doesn’t earn you the privilege to drive my car.”

“Duh.” Another tap of the stick. “That’s why I have to win it.”

He shook his head and laughed. “Okay.” He smacked his lips together. “What if you don’t make it?”

She shrugged. “You pick the poison.” Her eyes studied him and waited for a reply. A huff. “I don’t have all night, Dean.”

He flashed her the prettiest smile he could muster. “I’ll tell you after you miss.”

_Take it easy on the turns, Kid! Shit!_

Dean squirmed in the passenger seat for a majority of the midnight drive back. He thought he’d given her enough time to get most of the alcohol out of her system, waiting an hour after she’d won the bet, talking about nothing and eating some greasy food at the bar counter. But there was some bravado and disregard in her handling of Baby that made him think he should have waited a little longer. 

They’d made it, somehow in one piece, a death defying fifteen minutes later. She refused to give him back his keys until they stopped at her motel room door. Even then, those fingers dangled the keys by her collarbone. Dean focused on the flush of her cheeks under the yellow floodlight flashing on occasion above them.

“Alright. Glad you had your fun.” He displayed an open palm and stared down with every ounce of disapproval he could muster. It was impossible, though, with her smiling like a cat who’d caught a canary. “Gimme my keys and get yourself to bed. You’re gonna feel it in the morning.”

She shook her head.

“Come on, Kid. I’m tired. And, _I’ve_ got a long drive tomorrow.”

“What if I didn’t make it?”

“Huh?”

“The shot. What were you going to bet?”

His eyes danced over her expectant ones. “What does it matter? You made the shot.”

She scrunched her lids. “Cause I like to know the devious way the mind of the man I’m hunting with works.”

He sighed and thought of the past six months. The late nights researching. The diner food ranking system they’d come up with. Their mutual appreciation of a medium rare perfectly grilled burger with cheese. The trip to a zoo and her fascination with monkeys. The night she got him wasted on Sangria. The late night showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. He thought of how much he trusted her, hunting by his side. He licked his lips and smiled. “Sam.”

She straightened her posture. “What?”

“I would have bet that I could make you forget about Sam.” His eyes challenged the wonder staring back at him. Her breath held. He saw the moment of acquiescence. He dipped his head down, closing the distance, and whispered in her ear. “At least for a little while.” Surrounded by her trademark scent of shampoo and sweat, tickled by the strands of her feather light hair, triggered an overwhelming need growing for a taste. But, when he pulled back, ready to claim her lips, he smelled the beer. He couldn’t help the grin on his face when he saw her eyes closed, mouth parted. He grabbed the keys and backed away, right before he planned a sprint down the sidewalk to his room. “Night, Kid.”

_Are you sure, Kid?_

It had only taken a few days after Dean’s admission for them to kiss. And the past three months since had been filled with kisses. Making out in the back seat, front seat, diner booths, park benches, theater seats, any seat putting them close enough to lock lips. They began sharing hotel rooms and feeling each other up seven ways to Sunday, to the point of blue balls for Dean. But he loved every minute, even the frustration, as he took it slow. The slowest he’d taken it in a long time. Because it was her. And, she was special. And, even though they never spoke Sam’s name after that night and the bet, he was still a factor in all of it. 

“I’m sure, Dean.” She cupped his chin and nodded. “This is so… perfect.”

He’d found this spot on the map, on their way to another job John had sent his way. He knew it would bring back memories for her, even if they weren’t the exact same ones or the same place. He didn’t know why it was so important to him to bring her to this lakeside on such a bright, sunny, summer day. To pop Baby’s trunk and pull out a new picnic blanket he’d mindlessly picked up at a Five and Dime. To grab the green cooler from the back seat and unpack the sandwiches he’d made at the motel while she’d slept that morning. To unscrew the cap of the cheap bottle of red wine and pour some into a solo cup.

But, it’d been important. Important enough for them to end up in Baby’s back seat after the picnic. After hours of talking by the lake. Long enough to watch the sun go down and dots of light sparkle and wink atop the water’s surface. Important enough for her to want to give him that precious, perfect, one time gift.

_You’re beautiful, Baby Girl._

He’d whispered all the endearments he could think of as he peeled the layers from her skin. But none of them were enough. He’d bopped his head numerous times in the process on the fabric covering Baby’s ceiling. She’d giggled. She was nervous and insecure. But there wasn’t any reason to be. Not with him. He guided when needed. Loved every inch. Took care of her. Because she was special.

And, for a little while, she was all his. Until John Winchester had gone off on a hunting trip and didn’t check in like he should have after a couple weeks. 

**Dean gets that tingle. That little blip in the back of his brain that zeroes in on Sammy. His brother texts him. He glances at his phone, half listening to the radio. Sam’s doing the thing they always do when they are on their A game. Letting him know the location she and Sam plan to scope out. They should be there in an hour. That puts Dean an hour and half from the two of them. He was going to head to Bobby’s, which by his estimation is an hour drive out.**

**Sam sends him another text. “I’ll take good care of her, Dean. Don’t worry.”**

**“Gotta look after ‘em boy.” Bobby’s voice breaks into his thoughts.**

**He dials the old drunk. Something’s telling Dean they may need backup.**

**Dean mumbles, “Who’s gonna take care of the two of you, Sammy?” Bobby picks up on the third ring. “Need your help, Bobby. Hope you’re sober.”**

The three years of them altogether, after dragging Sam out of Stanford to find John, had been a roller coaster ride. John’s death hit them all hard. Dean grappled with the duty, the responsibility his Dad had left in his hands in secret: save Sam or kill him. 

Dean suffered from whiplash from the back and forth between his little brother and the girl they both loved. He had known his place simply as protector in this trio growing up. But now he was a mediator, listener, and an unknowing instigator, most of the time. And he struggled. God, did he struggle. Wanting the best for the both of them, but wanting something light and good and pure with her. 

And, then, he sacrificed everything he had to bring Sam back from the dead. His own soul. Because he couldn’t live without his little brother. Knowing he could do something, when it had always been his job to look after Sammy. And, he couldn’t look at her another minute and see the loss in her eyes as she bent over the bed that held Sam’s lifeless body, a plume of blood soaking into the mattress.

He’d had a year with them both after he made the deal. But he wanted her all to himself the night before his contract was up. The three of them were back at Bobby’s. But, he’d grabbed her hand and tugged her into Baby’s backseat parked far away from the house down the long drive. They took time to reminisce in between kisses. She smiled into his chest, reminding him that he’d taught her how to ride a bike on this long drive years ago. Then, he loved her soft, and slow, and pure in that backseat. 

_I’m not gonna be mad, Baby Girl. Or haunt you. Gonna be hard for me to do that with my soul in hell, anyway._

She was trying so hard to make him believe they would find a way out of it for him. Her voice hitched. He heard those soft sobs. The same ones when he’d gone to comfort her when her dad had died. He kissed her forehead, stroked her hair, and resigned himself to his fate.

_Hey, Kid, it’s okay. Please be with Sam after I’ve gone, be happy? You were always only on loan to me anyway, we both knew that._

That she and Sam had not found a way to make it work when Dean came back to the land of the living had irritated Dean in silence. He didn’t try to reconnect with her that way again. He’d had his time with her. And it had been perfect.

But Sammy. Sam needed her. Needed to finish what they started. So Dean had broken down, swallowed that love and care he had for her, locked it away, and called her up some months back.

_We need your help, Kid._

**Dean pulls up to the abandoned farmhouse in the dead of night. Bobby’s not far behind last time he checked. He calls her phone again. It rings and rings. He knows they’re here. He passed her car on the long drive up.**

**He canvases the outside, readies his colt in his steady grip. Creeps up the porch and tries the handle on the door. It opens with ease. Then, he sees the blood. And the bodies of the monsters they were hunting.**

**“Sammy!” He bellows, not caring what hears him. He circles throughout the rooms on the first floor. More blood. More bodies. “Kid!”**

**He hears something up the stairs. Coughing. He takes the steps two at a time, racing to the sound of her.**

**The scene in the open doorway breaks him.**

**“Sammy!” He rushes in. He calls to her. “Hey! Kid! Hey!”**

**~~~~~~~**

**THE END**

**~~~~~~~**

**Author's Note:**

> Perfect Day - Lou Reed
> 
> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2NFGqHVEd56oX1huVznefq?si=5Yhwr_dATaq5kS1yBc1qsQ


End file.
